


To Remember

by IntrovertedbutBooksmart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Mycroft Whump, PTSD Sherlock, Possible Character Death, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedbutBooksmart/pseuds/IntrovertedbutBooksmart
Summary: After picking up on a homicide case, Sherlock Holmes goes to (hopefully) confront the murderer. What he doesn't suspect is that the killer is ready for him.  (And who the hell is Dr. John Watson?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, when I started writing this, I was silently going through a list of characters I could possibly kill off.  
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> {Post fall, post season 3. Might be lacking important details, didn't quite finish the show, but re-watching.}

  Sherlock Holmes, resident of 221B Baker Street, was a rather strange character.

  A genius, but strange.

  A well known colleague to few, however, an enemy to many more.

  He was a detective.

  There was one particularly brutal case that Mr. Holmes had taken up to. A homicide.

  The perpetrator happened to be a particularly brutal man, as well, threatening many and never forgetting his grudges.

  He held a grudge with this "Sherlock" character, as he did with anyone who might've been fool enough to track him down.

  Indeed, he had found Sherlock before the detective found him.

  To Mr. Holmes's unfortunate fate.

 

  It was a rather bitter cold day in London.

  Of course, what'd Sherlock expect in Winter? He pulled his usual coat a bit tighter, ignoring the icy wind that tore through the clothing anyway. He'd been watching the murderer for some time now and got an understanding of the man's weekly schedule.

  Wednesday, the man had always seemed to end up in a rather abandoned drug den, of sorts. Addicts and those who sold drugs of all sorts stopped using the area for transactions ever since the police have began monitoring the area.

  How the perpetrator kept out of prison by now was another mystery. Possibly, a sort of corruption within the ones set to monitor? Drugs in extange for freedom? Perhaps Sherlock would confront Mycroft if his suspicions proved to be true.

  And now, as Sherlock rounded a corner stealthily, he felt the back of his neck prickle, as though he were being watched. However, the detective cast aside his desire to turn, if even for a moment. Darkness set in the sky as the sun sank lazily, and the prickling subsided as he quietly crept into the ruined home, gun in hand. 

  Sherlock kept his breathing ever so quite, glass crunching, muffled beneath his shoes. At any moment, the perpetrator could show up from around any corner and easily add a new name to his long list of victims. His hand tensed the moment he heard a ragged breathing. 

  He took a deep breath, silently hoping it wasn't his last, and took a step into the small, burned room, only to find a bloodied person lying upon the glass-littered ground.

  Mycroft.

  Dr. John Watson was bored.

  No, not as bored as Sherlock would get, but bored. 

  The detective  _refused_ to let John accompany him to wherever the killer had gone to. 

  "And why not Sherlock?"

  "It's dangerous."

  "Like nothing else we've been put through is?"

  "...This man has a list, John."

  "A list? A list of what?"

  "A list of his victims. Exceedingly long, I should mention?"

  John raised an eyebrow. "And you're going alone?"

  "Indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see... Oh yes, I'll have some angst in after the next few chapters, just gotta...  
>  find  
>  it...

   _It was cold._

Probably from the blood loss.

   _The room spun._

  Blood loss, Mycroft.

   _It hurt._

...

  These thoughts echoed throughout Mycroft's head as Sherlock turned the corner, gun in hand and aimed at him. His younger brother practically threw the gun down, ignoring common sense, and crouched to press his fingers to the other's neck and search desperately for a pulse.

  Weak, but definitely there.

  There was a stab wound in his abdomen, blood spilling fast. No time to waste.

  The detective grabbed his own dark gray scarf, ignoring the biting cold, and pressed it against the wound. Mycroft's eyes fluttered open, dark and full of pain. "Sh..er..lock?" He grunted, shifting slightly only to have his younger brother push harder on the wound. Moments later, when the blood somewhat ceased, Sherlock tightly wrapped his scarf around Mycroft's abdomen, quickly searching for anything else he may be able to use for bandaging.

  "Enjoying yourself, Mr. Holmes?"

  Sherlock stopped working on his brother the moment that the man's cold voice pierced the even colder air. 

  "No? Well, I'm certain I will be able to... 'Make up' for it, Mr. Holmes."

  That man's smug grin was the last thing Mycroft saw before blacking out once again.

  He certainly remembered hearing a lengthy fight.

 

  Now, John was a bit pissed. Going through the conversation in his head, the man left his flat and called a taxi, following the address Sherlock had said that the murderer would likely be. 

  Minutes later, he stood in front of the alleged area, making sure the safety was off of his gun, and stepped inside. He was greeted with a flooring covered in broken glass and rusty nails. Careful where he stepped, John quietly made his way down a long hall, dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

  Across the dirty floor, the debris parted, as though something had been dragged, blood following. Taking a deep breath, John found a doorway, from which the parting led from.

  Now or never.

  He burst into the room, met with a horrible sight. Mycroft lay upon the ground, seemingly unconscious, with blood covering his clothing and- was that Sherlock's  _scarf?_ So, that must've meant that he's found Mycroft, then. But why would he leave his brother here, unless..

   _Oh god._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos or Criticism?


End file.
